


Lost in Time

by helgaeunoia



Category: brightwin - Fandom, เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (Thailand TV), เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (Thailand TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, Fear of Death, Feelings Realization, M/M, Separation Anxiety, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Time Skips, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helgaeunoia/pseuds/helgaeunoia
Summary: “Win, I’m a time traveler.”“And I’m the king of Thailand,” Win quips back, chuckling.Bright gives him a wry smile. “I’m serious,” he says. “I’m from the future, your future, to be precise. I don’t know how I got this way, just that I’ve been dropping in and out of time since I was a kid. Sometimes I go back to before I was born, sometimes well into the future.”Time travel AU. In which Bright is born with a condition he can't control. Luckily, he has Win by his side through it all.
Relationships: Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree & Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn, Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree/Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn
Comments: 28
Kudos: 171





	Lost in Time

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This is a work of fiction. Please check the tags before reading x

Bright feels the tug in his gut, the slow and fast spin of the world as he tumbles out of his time and into another, landing in an awkward sprawl on the grass. He’s naked and shivering; the air is cold.

_First clothes, then shelter._

There is a bruise forming on his cheek and he reaches out to grab a sheet and a pair of jeans from a hanging clothesline. The grass is prickly underneath his feet.

He’s in someone’s backyard.

There is a small, startled gasp behind him as he finishes zipping up, and he hurriedly wraps the sheet around his body. A small boy with immaculate brown hair is standing in front of him, a somewhat shabby pink bear clutched in his hands.

“Th-those are my dad’s jeans,” Win says, his black eyes wide. “Who are you?”

He’s a little scrap of a boy, barely seven-years-old, and his face is streaked with tears. 

Bright remembers what he’s supposed to say. What Win told him he’d said, the day after his mother had died.

“I’m Bright.” He wonders, even as he mouths the words if he can change anything. He’s been like this ever since he could remember, tugged from one time to another like a puppet on a string.

He holds out his hand solemnly to shake, and Win takes it after a long moment.

“My name is Win,” he says. “This is Teddy, my bear. My… mommy… gave him to me for my birthday.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Win, and you, Teddy,” Bright says. He pats the bear on its head, studying the small boy. “Are you okay, Win? You look a little sad.”

Win shakes his head. “My mommy is gone,” he says. “And my daddy is sad. He cried a lot yesterday. I’m sad, too.”

His lower lip quivers, his soft eyes filling with tears. “Will I ever see her again?”

Bright opens his mouth and closes it again, wanting nothing more than to reassure the boy that it will get easier, that his memories will fade with time. But he’s twenty-eight and Win is twenty-eight (in his time at least), and he never loses the wistfulness in his expression whenever he talks about his mother.

Bright doesn’t want to lie, so instead, he opens his arms and hugs Win, pressing a small kiss on top of his head.

“I’m here for you, Win,” he says. “And I always will be.”

Win presses his little face against Bright’s chest, listening to his heartbeat behind the sheet. He feels warm, safe, and loved. 

When he opens his eyes, he is holding his mom’s favourite floral bed sheet and his dad’s jeans are puddled on the ground.

Bright is gone, but Win’s still warm.

* * *

Years pass before Win sees Bright again, and in his lucid moments he wonders if the man who’d held him as a child was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. 

Teddy the bear has long since been abandoned, shoved to the back of his dresser to make room for his collection of scarves and vests. 

Win doesn’t take him out except on the direst of nights, when thoughts of his mother loom larger than normal and he wants nothing more than to catch the scent of her hair.

Her smell is long gone by now, but the memories remain.

He’s at his desk on a bright Monday afternoon, trying to finish his English homework. It’s boring, really, because even though he’s thirteen now, he’s always been a smart kid and Bangkok Trinity’s not the most challenging of schools.

He finds his mind wandering, thoughts turning to Gigie at gym class and how all the boys whistled whenever she walked past. He didn’t get the appeal, and he wondered if that made him weird. 

Gigie had smirked at him when she caught his eye earlier that day, and Guy, ever the bully, had shoved him aside to get to her.

Win sighs. Why are things never easy in his life? The only thing that Win stares at during gym are his shoes, and the other boys are so preoccupied with girls that Win thinks he should be, too.

His train of thought breaks off when he hears a loud crash coming from his dresser. Eyes wide, he wonders if his shelf has given way under the weight of his budding coat collection. He dearly hopes not, and he runs to his walk-in and throws the door open.

Only to gasp and stumble back abruptly, tripping over his backpack and ending up on his rump on the floor.

There’s a naked man in his closet.

There’s a naked man in his closet.

_There’s a naked man in his closet._

Win scrambles to his feet, opening his mouth to yell for help, for his dad, for a baseball bat to protect himself from the vile, horrible…

…kind-of-an actor-looking guy he always sees on television, currently poking his head out from behind Win’s closet door.

“Er… hi,” he gives Win a little wave.

Win’s eyes widen in recognition. 

“Bright?” he squeaks, ashamed to hear his voice crack.

The man beams at him. “You remembered!” he says happily, carefully walking out of Win’s closet in nothing more than Win’s fashionably oversized coat.

Win stares at the man’s easy smile, his heart beating a little quicker as Bright takes another step towards him.

“I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your coat,” he says. “I didn’t want to scandalize you, and I don’t think your jeans would have fit me.”

Win swallows hard, trying not to stare at his frankly perfect face...

 _‘Oh,’_ he thinks. _‘So that’s what this feels like.’_

And isn’t it so very ironic that it isn’t Gigie that took his breath away?

“I thought I made you up… my imaginary friend ‘Bright’.” he finally manages to say. “H-how did you get into my closet? I opened it a minute ago and you weren’t there.”

Bright pauses, perching himself on the edge of Win’s bed. “I’m not sure how much time I have before I go away again,” he says. “So I don’t want to beat around the bush. You’re going to see me a lot more often soon, so it’s better I tell you now.”

He takes a breath, then continues. 

“Win, I’m a time traveler.”

“And I’m the king of Thailand,” Win quips back, chuckling. Okay, so maybe that was kind of a lame joke, but whatever. 

_Time travel? Seriously?_

Bright gives him a wry smile. “I’m serious,” he says. “I’m from the future, your future, to be precise. I don’t know how I got this way, just that I’ve been… dropping in and out of time… since I was a kid. Sometimes I go back to before I was born, sometimes well into the future. I can’t control it.”

“W-wait?” Win says. “You’re crazy. There’s a crazy phi in my bedroom. I’ve got to call my dad, please don’t kill me.” 

He’s backing away from Bright slowly, edging towards the door.

“Wait, Win,” Bright says, getting up as well. “Please, hear me out. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. And I’m not your phi, we’re literally the same age in retrospect,” he sighs. “Don’t you think it’s weird that I look the same as when I met you five years ago? Maybe even younger? I was twenty-eight when you first met me, but I’m twenty-one now.”

_Oh._

Win purses his lips. Okay, so maybe this Bright looked a bit younger than how he remembered him, but Win didn’t have a lot of experience judging people’s ages. When you’re seven, the world is divided into kids and grown-ups, and the Bright he met back then was definitely a Grown-up.

“Wait a minute,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. “If you’re twenty-one now, how could you possibly know that you meet me when you’re twenty-eight? If what you’re saying is true, then that hasn’t even happened for you, yet.”

Bright nods. “Well, that’s the thing,” he says. “You keep a diary, don’t you? After today, you’re going to start keeping track of the times you meet me. It’s been a while since the first time, but you’re going to start seeing me more often. Sometimes older, sometimes younger, and when you meet me, the me that exists in your time, you’re going to show me this journal,” he takes a breath. “That lets me keep track of when things happen, so I know that I’m supposed to be prepared for… certain things.”

Win frowns. “That’s an awful lot of work for me,” he says. “Are we even friends? How old are you supposed to be?”

“Like I said, I’m actually your age,” Bright laughs. “And yes, we become good friends.”

He sits back down on Win’s bed, crossing his legs self-consciously. Win looks at the swell of his calf, his eyes drawn to the slope of Bright’s knees. He feels his cheeks redden, and he looks up to see Bright smile understandingly.

“It’s okay, you know,” he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “You’re thirteen, you’re probably feeling certain things that you’ve never felt before. It happens to everyone.”

 _‘No, it doesn’t,’_ Win wants to say. _‘Thirteen-year-old boys are supposed to stare at girls, not men’s knees.’_

Instead he says: “Sure, whatever.” 

He won’t meet Bright’s eyes.

“Hey,” Bright says, leaning forward, taking one of Win’s hands. “It’s okay. Just be yourself, and everything will be okay. I’ll be there for you.”

Win looks down at him, thinking that having an adult hold his hand should feel creepy and wrong. But it doesn’t seem like that with Bright. 

_Do they really know each other that much?_

He opens his mouth to say so, but in an eye blink, Bright is gone.

Win looks around, dazed. “I guess he wasn’t kidding about the time travel,” he says. He picks up the empty coat on his bed, fingers lingering on the fabric as he goes to hang it up.

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now, and he doesn’t think he’s prepared to open that can of worms yet.

But he knows that when he’s ready, Bright will be there for him.

And it’s enough.

* * *

Win’s been having a terrible day. People at Bangkok Trinity are cruel and he’s gotten thrown into a dumpster and had his books tossed to the floor before the second period. He’s tired, his shirt is still damp, and he wants nothing more than to go home and curl into a ball and sleep.

He’s walking briskly across the parking lot with his sandwich bag, hoping that no one sees him and that he can eat his lunch in peace.

His head is down and his eyes are on the ground and that’s why he almost misses the naked little boy hiding behind a car.

_Almost._

His eyes widen as he backtracks, staring at the little boy who’s crouched behind an SUV.

“Excuse me?” he says, wide bambi eyes peering at him from behind messy locks. “I can’t find my mama and papa. Please help me?”

Win’s mouth drops open and he quickly sheds his coat, throwing it around the boy’s shoulders and zipping it up. “Who’s your mama and papa?” he asks, trying to be gentle. “How did you get here?”

The boy shrugs. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he admits. “I was in the park, and then here. Please help me?”

Win nods and holds out his hand. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go find your parents, then.”

He figures that the child meant the grade school playground not far from here, but that doesn’t explain his lack of clothing. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, inspecting the boy. Aside from dirty feet from standing on the asphalt, he looks unharmed.

“No,” he says shyly, sticking a grubby thumb in his mouth whilst holding on to Win with the other. “My name’s Bright. What’s yours?”

Win is so surprised that he drops the boy’s hand, but before he can answer he finds himself staring at his fallen coat on the ground.

Wow. Bright wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been traveling since he was a child.

Suddenly, Win’s problems don’t seem so bad anymore.

* * *

Win comes out to his father.

When he realizes that his father doesn’t hate him, Win feels a spark inside him ignite and warm his entire body. He lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding, stepping into his father’s arms for a bone-crushing hug.

“I love you just the same,” his father says. “Thanks for telling me, Win.”

Win nods, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath and returns to his vanity, grabbing a couple of tissues.

At the door to his room, his father pauses. “You’re sure, right?”

Win lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, dad.”

“Just checking.” His father grins, shrugging.

And then he’s gone, clambering up the basement steps and shutting the door behind him. 

Win chuckles, softly at first, then louder as he realizes that he’s just come out to his father. He’ll have to thank Love for making him tell his dad―he knows he’ll have a friend for life.

There’s a muffled thud on his bed and suddenly Bright is there, naked and perfect and holy fuck.

Win’s brain shuts down immediately because it’s one thing to like men and another thing entirely to have a naked man in his bed, and he’s sure as hell not ready for that.

“Hey you,” Bright says cheerfully, grabbing Win’s sheet and tying it around his waist. He walks over to give Win a peck on the cheek, brow furrowing when Win freezes.

“Er,” Win manages, hand flying to his mouth when he realizes just how good a friend Bright really is. “I don’t think we’re… I mean, that is to say, we haven’t… reached this point, yet.”

Bright’s eyes widened and he backpedals abruptly, nearly dropping his sheet in his haste to get away. “Oh shit,” he says. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. It’s just that you look exactly the way you do in my time, and holy shit Win, how old are you? Please don’t tell me you’re twelve!”

Win laughs, holding a finger to his lips. “Keep it down, my dad’s upstairs,” he says. “And I’m not twelve—I’m fifteen! I haven’t met you, yet. At least, not the you from my time. Does this mean I get to meet you soon?”

He claps his hands in excitement as Bright awkwardly shuffles his feet. “Not for a little bit,” he says. “I’m seventeen. And I can’t believe I didn’t put it together… this isn’t even the room when we first kis―er. In the future, I mean.”

Win’s eyes narrow. “Not my room? You mean dad and I move?” he asks. “But why? We’ve lived here forever!”

“You know I can’t answer that—“ Bright holds up his hands and backs away, Win following.

“What’s the point of time traveling if you can’t actually say anything?” he demands, raising an eyebrow.

Bright has the grace to look ashamed, but before he can respond he disappears, his sheet falling to the floor with a whisper.

If Win didn’t know better, he’d think he did it on purpose.

* * *

Ever since Win turned sixteen, he’s been waiting to meet Bright—his Bright—with bated breath. He keeps his eyes open whenever he goes out, making sure he’s always impeccably dressed even at the most menial of tasks.

After all, he reasons, if he could meet the love of his life at any day, he’d damned well make sure that he looks great when he does.

At school, the bullying gets worse. He gets shoved against lockers almost every day and he gets a multitude of bruises on his back and arms. He slides down to the floor during a particularly hard shove from a homophobic classmate, fighting back tears.

He’d thought that sixteen would be the best year of his life because it would be the year he meets Bright, but so far all it’s been is a disappointment.

Even the Music club hasn’t been providing him with the comfort he needs, as Mr. Tha once again refuses to let him sing with the girls and Guy tells him to make himself useful and go spy on their competition.

So Win sets his jaw and does exactly that, driving all the way down to Chiang Mai to check out their Music club. 

Win googles the academy and manages to pull together an approximation of their uniform from his wardrobe. It won’t fool anyone who looks too closely, but hopefully they’ll be civilized enough to let him off with a stern warning.

He can’t help but gape as he walks down U Chiang Mai’s echoing halls, impressed by the finery in spite of himself. Students are rushing past him without giving him a second glance, and out of curiosity he calls to the first boy he can snag.

“Excuse me!” he calls. “Can I ask you a question? I’m new here…”

The boy turns around, and Win’s breath catches in his throat.

_Fuck._

“I’m Bright,” he says.

Win opens and closes his mouth, trying to clamp down on his emotions because, oh, his knees seem to be intent on turning to jelly and depositing him on the floor.

“Win,” he manages, shaking the boy’s hand.

 _‘He doesn’t know you, yet,’_ he tells himself. _‘Calm down before you scare him off.’_

Win gathers himself enough to ask Bright what’s going on, and is delighted to discover that the school’s Music club isn’t as reviled as it is at Bangkok Trinity. He’s trying to find a casual way to ask Bright if he’ll show him where they’re performing, but before he knows it, the other boy takes him by the hand and leads him down a shortcut.

It feels like the longest shortcut that Win’s ever taken, but he’s not about to complain when Bright’s palm is warm in his.

When they arrive at the hall, Win is dazzled by Bright’s performance. He shakes his head as he realizes that Bright is the lead singer; he’s wondering why his love of music had never come up during their past meetings.

But Bright’s warm gaze holds his throughout the entire song, and Win feels a warm flush stain his cheeks.

 _‘Some things,’_ he thinks. _‘Are better left as surprises.’_

* * *

It isn’t after the members have left them alone that Win blurts out that he knows Bright’s secret. 

He watches as Bright freezes, black eyes wide with fear. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says carefully. “I don’t have any secrets.”

Win frowns, trying to remind himself that this Bright has never met him before. 

Well, technically _he_ did when he was five, but Win doubts that Bright even remembers that. He reaches out, wanting to lay a comforting hand on Bright’s arm, but the other boy withdraws it nervously. He looks like he’s ready to bolt.

“Please, just hear me out,” Win says. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I know about the traveling you do. You’ve been coming to me since I was seven, except you were older than you are now, so it hasn’t happened for you yet. But it will, I swear it will, and I just… trust me when I say that I’m so happy to see you. I feel like I’ve been looking for you forever.”

Bright’s eyes have gotten wider by the second, and he shakes his head, trying to make sense of things. 

“I… I don’t know you,” he says, uncertainly. “You feel familiar somehow, but I’m pretty good with faces and I’m sure I’d remember yours. You have… nice eyes.”

His ears reddened when he said this, looking down at the tabletop. Win finds this amusing, as the versions of Bright he’d met before had always been so sure of themselves. 

Win finds that he likes ‘present’ Bright… it makes him seem more real.

“Are we friends?” Bright asks hesitantly, and Win purses his lips.

He’s fairly certain that they’re going to be more than friends in the near future, but he doesn’t want to spoil anything or change history or force something along that he shouldn’t. And really, at this point he hasn’t actually done anything with any version of Bright, so…

“Yes,” Win says. “We’re friends. Good friends. I’d go so far as to say that you’re my best friend, in fact.”

“Oh,” Bright says, relaxing minutely. “That’s… nice.”

He still looks a bit shaky, and Win reaches out to lay a hand on his arm. Bright lets him.

“It’s kind of nice,” Win says and when Bright looks at him, he shrugs. “You didn’t disappear at the end of the conversation.”

Bright gives him a small smile. “Yeah, I could get used to not disappearing.”

* * *

The first thing that Bright notices when he arrives at Bangkok Trinity is the thick steam that hangs in the air. He smiles thinly to himself, thinking that there are worse places to appear naked at than a boy’s locker room.

He pokes his head around the stall division, hoping that no one will notice the unfamiliar kid making a dash for the lockers. There are faint, flesh-toned blobs in the thick mist, and Bright squints and hopes that he doesn’t somehow run into anyone he knows (or will know, because he doesn’t fancy having to explain who he is to a Khaotung that hasn’t met him yet).

Then the shower mist clears and he hears an unmistakably high-pitched laugh that could only belong to a member of the fairer sex.

Bright freezes.

The thought of being caught naked in a woman’s locker room fills him with fear, his heart pounding as he realizes what they would do to him if they found him.

He swears softly under his breath, ducking down and plastering himself against the wall, praying that no one thinks to use the last stall. He waits as the minutes' trickle by, letting out a breath of relief as he hears the last bit of chatter die down as the door slams shut.

Bright tip-toes out on the wet tiles dismayed to find the regular lockers open and emptied. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. 

He can’t just walk out of here naked, and he doesn’t know how long this visit will be. He kicks open a few of the lockers below to double-check that there’s nothing in them, and as he surveys the room, he realizes that there are some lockers that still have padlocks on them.

The bright pink sign perched on top of the cheerleaders’ permanent lockers makes Bright smirk, and he doesn’t feel very guilty when he breaks Gigie’s locker combination. (Her birthday, of course.)

The smirk falls from his face as he realizes what Gigie’s extra clothes consist of, and he prays that he doesn’t run into Win today.

* * *

Bright strides down Bangkok Trinity’s halls, trying to find a room with a calendar. He figures it was before Win transfers to U Chiang Mai in the next few months. 

He gets more than a few stares as he walks past, and he tugs self-consciously at the collar of Gigie’s too-tight sweater. He supposes that he should be glad she had a pair of loose jogging pants in there, but her red sweater is so tight across his chest that it looks like it was spray-painted on him.

“Bright?” Win’s voice is soft but carries, and Bright winces inwardly before he turns around. Win’s mouth drops open as he takes in Bright’s clothing.

“What the fuck,” he hisses, grabbing Bright’s hand and dragging him into an empty classroom. “What happened to the uniform? I didn’t expect you to arrive so quickly!”

Bright smiles sheepishly. “Hey,” he says, trying not to give anything away. “My uniform is in the wash and I wanted to try out something new for a change.” His mind races as he tries to place when exactly he is. 

Win thinks he’s Bright from his own time, which means he called him to come over for some reason. But if Win’s still at Bangkok Trinity, then that would mean… Oh.

_The homophobe._

Bright’s eyes narrow, remembering that day when sixteen-year-old Win had sent him a frantic text message begging him to come to see him. Bright had gotten into his car and sped over, promptly disappearing as he’d pulled into a station to get some gas. 

He’d been furious at himself when he reappeared the day after, certain that Win hated him for not being there for him. He’d stopped short only when he’d checked his phone and discovered several grateful text messages from Win. 

Apparently, he had managed to be there for Win after all.

A year later, he’s thrown forward and his seventeen-year-old self meets Win at twenty-one. He fondly recalls the memory, Win telling Bright that he was his knight-in-shining-armor, saving him from a neanderthal on the worst day of his life.

And today was apparently that day, and Bright, at eighteen, was that knight.

So he squares his shoulders and pats Win on the back, trying not to give in to the urge to take him into his arms. 

At eighteen, he and Win have had a loving relationship for a couple of years. At sixteen, Win has barely received his first kiss, and probably won’t welcome Bright pawing at him.

“It’s all right, Win,” he says, smiling a little. “I’m here to help. What do you say we find that guy and give him a talk?”

Win sniffles a bit, nodding.

They find him on the stairs outside, Bright trying to keep his temper long enough to extend a helping hand. He’s not surprised when the homophobe attempts to manhandle him, but before he can lift a hand to defend himself, Win steps up. 

He’s a little taller than Bright and deceptively strong, and Bright wonders if maybe future Win hadn’t exaggerated his part a bit.

“Leave us the fuck alone and get a life or I’ll report you. Say goodbye to whatever the fuck your dream school is. ”

Because this Win is strong and fierce and beautiful—he is his own Knight, and he takes Bright’s breath away. 

The homophobe’s face is painted with shock, anguish and rage; Bright watches him go.

“Well, he’s not going to make a scene anytime soon,” he says a bit breathlessly, trying to straighten Gigie’s sweater. “You were amazing, Win.”

But Win sits down on the steps and takes a huge, shaky breath. When Bright asks him what’s wrong, he bites his lip. 

“My lips are bruised,” he says. “And it… it hurts from the punch earlier.”

It’s hard for Bright to not take him into his arms and press a thousand kisses to his lips. He has to remind himself that they’re not there yet, feeling like so much of his life has been spent waiting for things to happen. He’s not even sure if he believes in fate or altering timelines or whatever, but for whatever reason, he knows that he doesn’t want to screw anything up.

Bright forces a smile instead. 

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but Bright holds on to the fact that they’ll be together soon.

* * *

Win preoccupies himself as an exchange high school student at U Chiang Mai, feeling strangely adrift. His seventeenth birthday is in a couple of weeks and Bright’s just had his, and he wonders if he’s missed his cue. 

He eyes his journal in his room at the shared dormitory, wondering if he’s horribly misread the situation. 

Maybe Bright really is just a friend—his older selves had never explicitly said that they were together, though there was that time when he was fifteen that Bright had kissed his cheek.

But, he reasons, Bright holds his hand and sings him songs and ruffles his hair sometimes, and a peck on the cheek isn’t that far off, is it? 

Of course, there had been the small fact that Bright seemed completely at ease with his nudity around Win, but he could easily attribute that to the fact that Bright was comfortable with him like that because he knows his time traveling secret.

If Win is honest with himself, there’s no reason for him to think that Bright is anything other than a really, really good friend. He’s been nursing a crush on the mysterious stranger who’s been popping in and out of his life since he was seven, and the fact that he’s magnified their relationship into some eighteenth-century romance is a testament to his naiveté.

At seventeen, Bright is a wonderful person and a great friend. Win just has to accept the fact that he doesn’t like him that way and move on with his life.

He sighs again, picking up rolls of paper and trying to decide what to do.

“What are you up to?” Bright’s voice is quiet as he walks into his room.

Win looks up, offering him a small smile. Speak of the devil. “I’m decorating a house. I want to be an architect, you know.”

Bright smiles back. “I know, and I believe in you, but finish up,” he says. “I have the perfect song for our number and we should practice.”

“Okay, tell me.” 

Win picks up on Bright’s nervous air almost immediately, and he raises a slim brow as the conversation turns to song choices and other such trivialities.

Things have been a little strained between them lately and Win has only himself to blame. His outburst about Bright getting all the solos had been a manifestation of his _deeper_ frustrations with the other boy, but he knows that Bright doesn’t understand that.

How can he? He’s the wrong Bright from the right time, and Win can’t put the burden of his real expectations on him.

Or rather, where they stand when it comes to their feelings.

Win purses his lips, blurting out the first question that comes to his mind. 

“Why did you pick me to sing that song with? Warm on A Cold Night?” 

He doesn’t expect much of an answer; ever since he’d met this present-day Bright, he’d realized that singing was such a huge part of his life. He’d probably just taken Win’s words to heart when he championed Bangkok Trinity’s more varied style.

So no one is more surprised than he when Bright pauses, straightening up as if to steel himself.

“Win,” he begins. “There is a moment when you say to yourself, _‘oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you forever.’”_

_W-what?_

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Bright looks down. “Remember when you told me you’d rather wait for someone to confess to you or at least show you hints they like you? Like a signal?” 

“Yeah...”

Bright breathes deeply before looking at his eyes. 

“That’s me giving you _the_ signal.”

_Oh._

Win gasps softly when Bright reaches out, laying a hand on top of his.

“Watching you do ‘Day One’ this week… that was the moment for me,” he continues. “About you. You... move me, Win. And this duet would just be an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Win lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding when Bright moves towards him, carefully cupping his face before moving to capture his lips with his own. 

_The kiss is sweet and full of promise._

It’s Win’s real first kiss, the only kiss that matters, and he realizes that this is the moment he’s been waiting for his entire life. 

Hesitantly, he reaches up, touching Bright’s cheek and marvelling at the fact that he’s real, and warm, and still there.

Bright leans back, dazed. “We should… we should practice,” he says, blushing to the roots of his hair.

Win smiles. “I thought we were.”

Their second kiss makes the very tips of his toes tingle, and he’s almost relieved when Bright disappears a moment later. 

Win picks up Bright’s shirt, rubbing the fabric against his cheek.

“See you soon,” he whispers. He knows exactly where seventeen-year old Bright has gone, and he knows he’s going to be back in just a few minutes.

He’s almost tempted to hide the clothes so he can enjoy the view when Bright reappears.

Almost.

* * *

Win’s senior prom is as wonderful as he could have ever imagined. 

After Win’s exchange student program stint at U Chiang Mai, Bright begged his parents to let him move to Bangkok Trinity with his boyfriend at the start of senior year, letting them know about how Win has been helping him with his condition and how important Win is to him in general. 

Miraculously, Bright’s disappearances dwindle to a handful of moments. Now both aged eighteen, they’re able to live a somewhat normal life, surrounded by good friends and family.

The only time they hit a snag is on the night of the prom itself. Bright asks to use the bathroom when he picks Win up, wanting to check his hair. It isn’t long before there’s a dull thud and Win fearfully opens the door to discover that Bright has, indeed, disappeared.

He’s holding Bright’s suit and wondering what to do when Bright reappears outside his window, naked and shivering in the cold night air.

Win lets him in, realizing that it’s not his Bright that stands before him, but rather a Bright that’s ten years older than him.

“I’m twenty-eight,” Bright says in a stage whisper, shoving his legs into his slacks. 

Win tries not to stare. Bright looks amazing at this age, maybe even better than he does now. “I know it’s not what you had in mind, but…”

“It’s okay,” says Win, reaching out and touching the curve of Bright’s jaw. He’s got some stubble going on and his hair is a little different, and Win hopes his father won’t notice. “You look amazing.”

Bright looks down. “I met you last week as a seven-year-old,” he sighs. “You asked about your mom.”

_Oh._

“You probably remember what happened that time, of course. I wish I could’ve said more words of assur―”

“Sssh,” Win gently taps his shoulders, wrapping the other man in a warm embrace. “I’m just happy that you paid me a visit during one of the hardest times of my life,” he says.

They leave shortly thereafter, and if Love notices that Bright has suddenly grown a five o’clock shadow in ten minutes, she doesn’t say anything.

It isn’t long before they’re at prom, ignoring the raised eyebrows and moving to the dance floor. A slow song has started, and Win rests his cheek against Bright’s as they move together, eyes fluttering shut. 

Win and Bright had agreed that tonight would be the night they’d have sex for the first time. They’d done other things before, but they’d both wanted this to be special, something to remember for the rest of their lives.

Thinking back ten years ago, Bright remembers that he had rented a hotel room but given Win the key card for safekeeping. He wonders if Win is nervous.

At twenty-eight, Bright already knows how this night will end, but Win doesn’t. 

Bright pulls back enough to kiss him on the cheeks, and Win’s eyes shine in the darkness.

“I love you,” he whispers. “All of you.”

Bright hugs him tight, not caring who watches them. There is a familiar tug at his stomach, and he smiles against Win’s shoulder.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers.

Bright flickers in and out of existence as he staggers into the men’s bathroom. He shuts the stall door just as he disappears.

* * *

When eighteen-year-old Bright reappears, he finds himself in an unfamiliar hotel room. He hopes to god that he’s in the room he rented with Win, because if it turns out to be someone else’s room, he’s in for a very embarrassing conversation. 

His eyes fall on the room number on the phone. No such luck, but at least he’s on the same floor.

He pads to the closet and pulls on a robe, not bothering to find slippers before he departs. He locates their room easily enough, ringing the doorbell.

“Bright?” Win exclaims, opening the door and pulling him inside. “Is that you?” he asks, hands on his hips. “You totally disappeared on me earlier… I had to check all the stalls before I found your suit.”

“It’s me,” Bright laughs, leaning in to kiss Win breathless. “Thanks for grabbing my stuff. I’m sorry that I missed prom.”

“Wait a few years,” Win replies archly. “I rather enjoyed myself dancing with an older you.”

“That’s good,” Bright says. “And hey, I’m back for the important part, right?” he pulls Win close and nuzzles his neck, mouthing kisses along his throat. “I missed you,” he whispers.

He helps Win out of his jacket and tie, carefully maneuvering him to the bed. They topple on to it gracelessly, Bright’s robe slipping off his shoulder. He somehow manages to unbutton Win’s shirt and pull down his pants at the same time, and he makes a strangled sound when Win sucks a hickey into the side of his neck.

Win’s hands are trembling as he undoes the belt on Bright’s robe. It isn’t long before the only thing between them is Win’s boxers and they roll together on the bed, Bright resting lightly on top of him.

“I’m so happy,” Win whispers. “I’m so happy that at least in this, we’re each other’s firsts.”

As their kisses grow more urgent and Bright’s hands wander lower, Win’s eyes close.

Their lips meet for the first time during this visit, and the raw emotion behind it takes Bright’s breath away.

Win’s kisses are sweet and taste like sugar. Bright loves those kisses, and he thinks that they’re what joy would taste like. But Win’s kisses now are long and deep, emotion thrumming beneath the surface. 

_These kisses feel like they could consume Bright, like they could burn him if he let them._

For the first time in his life, Bright is afraid of what he’s feeling. But he loves Win, loves him with all his heart, and Bright will give him everything he can.

Their embrace becomes more urgent as Win mouths kisses against his lips and neck. It feels like he’s trying to memorize every inch of Bright’s body, mapping out his skin with his lips and tongue.

“I love you,” Win breathes, tears glittering on his lashes. “I love you so much…”

“I love you too,” Bright replies. He hesitates a little, then tugs at the hem of Win’s shirt, helping him slide it off his body. “I want… I want to be with you, Win. Will you let me?”

Win bites his lip, then nods wordlessly. Bright thinks that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than Win right now, all smooth skin and soft hair.

He stretches out carefully on the bed, nude, and pulls Win gently on top of him. They both gasp at the sensation of bare skin on bare skin, and Bright marvels at the thought that he could ever feel this way. 

Everything is so intense, each sense magnified a hundredfold.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, caressing Win’s cheek. “I trust you.”

Win leans down and kisses him again, his hands everywhere, soft and hard and unbearably gentle all at the same time. Bright thinks that it’s too much and somehow, wonderfully, not enough, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to cry.

He focuses on how Win’s body feels against his, so achingly beautiful and filled with a strength that he didn’t notice Win has.

Win is murmuring endearments against his mouth, reaching into the drawer beside them and slicking his fingers in deft movements.

“Are you sure?” Win pulls back long enough to ask, even though he already knows the answer.

Bright nods, eyes wide and trusting, and Win touches him carefully, pressing a feverish kiss against his lips. 

“Did a future me teach you this?” Bright asked jokingly.

“Shut up, I watched some of the videos you saved on your laptop.”

Bright’s eyes widened at that while Win laughed breezily.

The slick fingers ease their way in―one first, then another, and Bright is moaning against Win’s mouth, gasping as he crooks his fingers and Bright sees stars. 

Win’s other hand is working his cock, and Bright thinks that it may be the most intense feeling he’s ever had, his body taut like a strung bow.

Win gently adds a third finger and Bright cries out. “I’m ready,” he manages. “Please… Win… I need you…”

And Win takes in a shuddering breath, not trusting himself to speak. He settles back on top of Bright, carefully reaching down to position himself against the warm heat. Bright’s hard and aching and they both moan when Win pushes inside him.

Win goes slowly, trying to get Bright used to the sensation of having him inside. 

“Tell me,” he whispers. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

Bright nods. “Don’t stop,” he says, letting out a shaky breath. “You feel… I can’t even… Just don’t stop…”

They find their rhythm together slowly, Win pressing kisses on Bright’s neck and murmuring his love in his ear. It’s frighteningly perfect and Bright didn’t think sex could ever be like this, didn’t realize that he could feel so connected to another human being.

 _‘It’s Win’,_ he thinks in a daze. It’s always been him, no matter what time or place or age, it’s always been him.

It crests and peaks inside him, and he comes with a moan, shuddering as Win claims his mouth in another searing kiss. Win follows him soon after, Bright holding him close as he spasms on top of him.

“I love you,” Win whispers against his mouth. “Always.”

They drift off together, sticky and sated, relaxing in a pleasant tangle of limbs.

“Mm, by the way,” Win mumbles. “Where were you? What version of me did you meet?”

Bright paused a bit, flashbacks to him meeting again a twenty-eight year old Win. It’s his second time meeting him at that age, the first one was when he was seventeen and confusingly stayed for like a week with a very…

He doesn’t want to say _sad,_ because Win might overthink about it if he mentions anything about it. Plus he didn’t even know where he was at that age. 

Twenty-eight-year-old Bright probably left Win for a week for work or something. After all, he’s planning to be a professional singer someday.

He didn’t get a chance to say hi to Win on the second time, though, which he suspects was a few months after their first encounter that time. 

Win was curled up into a ball in their bed, with ‘Nicotine’ by Mirr playing in the background. He didn't want to bother him so he put on a robe and waited to disappear in the bathroom.

He prays that Win's version of Bright in that timeframe will cheer him up by singing that song to him.

“Bright?”

He smiles at Win. “Nothing much, just met the twenty-eight-year-old you again, and don’t worry baby, you were sleeping.”

Win laughed a bit at that and cuddled closer to him.

* * *

The first time Bright can remember disappearing is when he was seven. He has vague recollections from when he was younger still, but seven is the first actual, solid memory that he has of his travels.

He remembers being with his mother at the park, laughing as he runs to the brightly-colored tube tunnels and scurrying in. He goes into one end and exits the other, and he wraps his arms around himself and shivers at a sudden gust of wind.

Bright’s nose turns red and he sees his warm breath spiral from his mouth. He whirls around to go back to the tube, but there’s nothing there, just trees with branches as far as his eyes can see.

Seconds feel like hours in the freezing air, and he appears minutes later on his own bed and his own time. His mother and father are speaking in frantic whispers, and when he emerges from his room, they wrap him in their arms and sob with relief.

He recounts this story to Win, who listens with wide eyes. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You must have been so scared.”

Bright shrugs. “I was,” he says. “I was scared for a long time. I reappear at certain places that mean something to me, to my… ‘timeline’, if you will. But I don’t always know the significance of these places, and sometimes it’s just…”

He shrugs again. “They aren’t the safest places to appear defenceless in.”

“Is my journal helping you at all?” Win asks. “I’ve been keeping it since I was thirteen and I’ve been pretty faithful about listing down all of our encounters.”

Bright nods. “It has,” he says. “Win… my Win, showed it to me yesterday. It’s been helping with the moments I’ve jumped to in the past, but not so much with the future.”

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s been happening less now that we’re together,” he continues. “It’s kind of like I’m… happy to be where I am. It’s like you’re keeping me grounded.”

Win chuckles. “That’s a romantic way of putting it,” he says. “And if it’s true, then I’m glad. I’m not sure how long this visit will be, but… do you want a glass of water or something?”

“Sure,” Bright grins crookedly. “I just turned seventeen, I’m supposed to be taking a history test right now, but hanging out with a nineteen-year old college guy is much more fun.”

Win rolls his eyes, reaching over to tousle Bright’s hair before going into the kitchen to fetch him something to drink.

When he comes back, he finds the robe he’d given Bright to wear strewn across his couch. 

“Guess this one was a short visit too,” he sighs, stooping to pick it up.

“…Win.” 

The voice that greets him as he straightens sounds raspy, wrong. 

Win turns to find an older Bright on the floor, shaking hard as he wraps his arms around himself.

“Bright?” Win gasps. He runs to the other man, throwing the robe that the younger Bright had just been wearing across his shoulders. 

_Was that blood?_ Win pales.

“Oh fuck, what happened?” he asks urgently, wrapping his arms around Bright. “Please stay with me, baby. Don’t go, please!”

“D-don’t be scared,” Bright whispers. He turns his face into Win’s cardigan and inhales deeply as if trying to memorize his scent. “It’s okay, Win…”

“What happened? Damn it! Where did you go?” Win asks, pressing a frantic kiss on Bright’s brow. “Tell me so I can warn you… Bright!”

But the other man has flickered out of existence once more, and Win is left clutching an empty, blood-stained robe.

That night, when his Bright, the nineteen-year-old Bright comes home, Win presses him to the wall and kisses him until they’re both panting and breathless and clutching at each other.

“Wow,” Bright laughs. “I must’ve done something awesome today to deserve that.”

Win nods, not trusting himself to speak, and pulls Bright to their bedroom. 

They make love passionately, fingers entwined, breath mingled. Win tries to banish the memory with his lips and teeth and tongue on his lover’s skin, but it haunts him even as Bright falls asleep in his arms.

Win aches.

* * *

Win drums his fingers across the counter, waiting patiently for Bright to reappear. He flips through a magazine, idly checking out the gossip column to see if Gigie has made the news. 

She’s performing in some Broadway musical, and is popular enough and talented enough to make the fourth page of Bangkok’s ‘celebrity spotting’ segment.

“Ha,” Win chuckles, amused at seeing her small photo on the spread, hanging on to the arm of a devilishly handsome actor. They’re laughing and Gigie is tossing her hair. “Still friends with the most flaming of homosexuals,” Win smiles under his breath. He remembers seeing that guy at a gay club he’d sung at, once. “Some things never change.”

Love rings him a few minutes later, wanting to catch up on his latest gig. She’d stayed in a university near Bangkok Trinity for college while Win and Bright had puttered off to central Bangkok, and though her calls aren’t as frequent as they used to be, they still carry the same affection.

“How are you guys doing?” she asks. “Are you keeping your boy busy?”

Win snorts. “I do when he’s actually around,” he says. “He’s been… traveling a lot, lately.” He knows Love won’t get the real meaning behind his words, so he chooses them carefully. “He has to leave a lot because of his part-time job… he can’t really help where they send him.”

He can almost hear Love roll her eyes. “That’s no excuse,” she points out. “You have to support your man, Win. Make the moments you have together count! You’re both twenty years old now, it’s like… another decade.”

“I suppose,” Win sighs. “It’s just hard. I feel like he’s hardly ever around any more.”

There is a loud crash coming from the bedroom, and Win frowns. “Speak of the devil,” he says. “Love, I have to go. Bright just got in, and I’ve got to talk to him a bit.”

Love’s voice is tinny as she says goodbye, and Win ends the call and tosses his phone on the counter. “Bright?” he calls. “Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” Bright snaps, shoving his legs into his trousers. There’s a cut on his cheek and his eye is swelling with the beginnings of an impressive bruise.

Win’s eyes widen. “Are you okay?” he asks, going to his bedside drawer and pulling out his first aid kit. He keeps them in every corner of their apartment.

“What happened?” he asks. He dabs at the cut on Bright’s cheek, wincing in sympathy as the other man hisses.

“Couldn’t find proper clothes,” Bright replies, shaking his head. “I ended up running through my old high school’s parking lot in jean shorts and a pink tank top—the local jocks were not impressed.”

Win shakes his head in disbelief. “Damn it,” he says. “After all this time, we’re still running from people like that…”

“Yeah well, I didn’t run this time.” Bright frowns. “Hence the black eye.”

“You what?” Win steps back, biting his lip. “Oh Bright, you shouldn’t have done that… you could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“I’m tired of running,” Bright responds. “And I got a couple of punches in, myself. Anyway, I disappeared before they could do much damage… I think they’re going to need therapy for group hallucinations.”

“It’s not just that,” Win protests. He fetches a bag of peas from the freezer, holds it to Bright’s injured eye. “What if someone recognized you? What if they pick on the _you_ from that time because of that?”

“They gave me enough hell just for being who I was,” Bright returns. “I doubt seeing some older guy in drag is going to make it any worse for me.”

“Bright―”

He nudges Win away and holds the bag of peas himself, shaking his head. “Why are you so down on me, anyway?” he asks. “What’s done is done, Win. It’s not like I can change history.”

“But—“ Win opens his mouth to argue, but Bright cuts him off with a wave.

“Look, I know you’re worried, babe,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I just need some air, okay?”

He puts the peas back in the freezer and shrugs on his jacket as he walks out, leaving Win sputtering behind him.

* * *

Twenty-two year-old Win runs a hand through his hair, clearing his throat as he prepares for his first set of the night. It’s a weeknight gig at a small bar and it doesn’t pay much but at least he still gets to sing. It’s his final year at Bangkok University and after he turns in his thesis on Monday, it’s all over.

Another chapter in his life will have passed, and he almost wants to ask Bright if he knows what their future will hold.

He’s applied for a few low-level positions at minor architectural firms, but so far he hasn’t heard back from any of them. He’s been fretting about finding work, not sure if his designs are good enough to hack it in the real world.

Film, his accompanying guitarist nudges him in the arm. “Ready?” she asks. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”

Win nods, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about life after graduation,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry about it.

He brings the microphone to his lips, grinning at the crowd. “Hey everybody,” he says. “My name’s Win, and this here’s Film. Tonight’s for the lovebirds out there, and if you’ve got your partner with you, grab their hand and don’t let go.”

He winks, takes a drink of water, and begins to sing 'That Person Must Be You'.

* * *

Win has a drink at the bar at the end of his set, taking a long swig of the beer that Khaotung hands him. “Nice one,” he remarks, and Win shrugs.

“People like silly love songs,” he says.

“Nah, you were really good,” Khaotung responds. “Film too. You should cut a record or something, sell it during your gigs.”

“Yeah right,” Win laughs, turning away.

“He’s right, you know,” a friendly voice interrupts, warm breath a little too close for comfort. “You were great out there, Win.”

Win turns around in surprise, eyes widening in recognition as he beholds the young man in front of him. 

“Luke?” he exclaims. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

Of all the places he’d expected to see an old U Chiang Mai graduate, a random club in central Bangkok isn’t it.

The other man laughs, pulling him into a brief hug. “Interviewing for a job,” he says. “It’s nothing big, just a gig for a small magazine. My parents pulled some strings…” his ears reddened a bit at the admission, shrugging. “So how are you? You’re still with Bright, right?”

Win nods, grinning. Bright still keeps up with some of the U Chiang Mai boys on Facebook, but seeing as Win was only there for a semester, he himself wasn’t too up-to-date on their individual lives.

He’d always liked Luke’s personality, though, and he was sorry they’d lost touch over the years.

“So where are you staying?” he asks, and Luke names a hotel not far from their apartment.

“It’s a crazy city,” Luke laughs. “I moved to Pattaya after U Chiang Mai, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give central Bangkok a try. But the opening presented itself and I just wanted to see if I could hack it.”

“Tell me about it,” Win huffs. He and Bright had been here for four years and he still wasn’t used to all the hustle and bustle.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Luke says, and he signals the bartender. “What are you having?”

“Another beer’s fine, thanks,” Khaotung drinks the last of the contents of his bottle, handing it to Tony in exchange for a new one. “So tell me what you’ve been up to.”

* * *

Four beers and two shots of tequila later, Win walks a shaky Luke out the door of the club. He hasn’t drunk that much in a while and his tolerance isn’t what it used to be, but judging from the way Luke is walking, he’s worse off than even Win is.

He puts him in a cab and doubts that he’ll manage to get back to his hotel this way, so Win climbs in after him and gives the driver his address. He’ll get Luke upstairs and sober him up a bit before sending him on his way. Bright will be home soon, and he’ll probably enjoy seeing Luke again.

They get back to his apartment a little after eleven, and Luke is stumbling along with Win’s support.

“Bright?” Win calls, but there’s no answer and his suspicions are confirmed when he sees a crumpled heap of clothing by the door.

“Sorry,” he tells Luke. “I think Bright might be out late tonight. What do you say we get some coffee in you?”

Luke makes an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat, and Win dumps him on the couch. “God, you’re heavy,” he says.

He puts the coffee on, drumming his fingers against the counter as he waits for the water to come to a boil. He’s feeling more than a little relaxed himself, and he snaps out of his reverie only when the pot begins to whistle.

“Here,” he says, shoving a cup in Luke’s hands. “Drink that, and don’t even think about spilling it on my couch.”

Luke sighs, bringing the steaming cup to his lips and obediently sipping. His eyes are unfocused, taking in their apartment before coming to rest on the many pictures on the mantelpiece.

“You and Bright have been together a long time,” he says softly.

Win nods. “Yeah, since U Chiang Mai,” he says. “We only really considered the universities we both passed at.”

“Yeah,” Luke sighs. “Joss and I did, too. I got into Kasetsart but he didn’t, and I ended up going to Pattaya because that’s where he ended up. My dad was really angry when I turned Kasetsart down.”

“Things didn’t work out?” Win guesses, since Luke doesn’t look very happy.

“They didn’t,” he confirms, his voice shaking a bit. “We were together until a few months ago. His dad’s been really uncool about us and he’d been putting the pressure on Joss.”

“Oh, shit.”

“He always said that he’d choose me if it ever came down to it, but…” Luke puts down the mug unsteadily, putting his head in his hands. “I guess it just became too much,” he says. “I mean, we’ve only ever really been with each other. I guess he wanted to see what the world was like, and it helped when his dad offered to bankroll him if he dumped me.”

“Ouch.” Win winces in sympathy, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“I mean, he didn’t even try to fight for it,” he says. “It’s like… it’s like he just got tired of me, or something.”

Win nods, thankful once again that his father had been so accepting of him. His relationship with Bright had been fairly trouble-free, with the only snag being that Bright had a bad habit of falling out of time every now and then.

All of a sudden, Luke leans back abruptly, trapping Win’s arm under him on the couch. 

Win clears his throat. “Er, Luke, my arm’s kind of…” he begins, but Luke looks pretty shattered right now, eyes moist with unshed tears.

“It’s like a bad dream,” he confesses. “It’s not like I even want this job, I just wanted to be as far away from Joss as I could be. I’m so out of it and I just… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

Win opens his mouth to say something placating, but when he turns his head to face Luke, he’s surprised to note that Luke has made it unnecessary to turn his head because he’s actually quite near. So near in fact, that his face is practically smushed up against Win’s.

Win is so surprised that he doesn’t react immediately to the fact that his very drunk friend is kissing him.

It takes him a second to realize that this is happening, and then he puts his hand on Luke’s shoulder, blatantly pushing him off of him.

Dimly he hears the door to the bedroom opening, and his eyes widen as he realizes that this. Does. Not. Look. Good.

“Win?” Bright is standing there in his robe, eyes wide as Win pushes Luke off of him and scrambles to his feet. “Luke? What the hell is going on here?”

Luke blinks blearily. “Bright?” he says. “Win said you were out…”

And if there’s one thing that Luke could have said to make a bad situation worse, that was pretty much it. 

“Shut up, Luke,” Win hisses, and makes as if to reach for Bright, but the look in the other man’s eyes stops him cold.

There’s betrayal there, and a hurt so palpable that it pains Win to even meet his gaze. 

“Bright, wait! It’s not like that!” 

He reaches for Bright, but the other man is already running. He throws open their apartment door and turns a corner, and by the time Win has reached him, he’s nothing but a puddled robe.

Win picks up the robe and walks slowly back to his apartment, where Luke is standing frozen.

“Time to go,” Win says in a clipped voice, taking him by the arm and practically pulling him outside.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Luke babbles, stumbling a little as they arrive at the curb. “I don’t know why I did that—I was drunk and I didn’t—I’m really sorry, Win.”

“It’s okay,” Win says. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

He helps Luke into the first cab that stops, giving the driver the name of his hotel. 

“It was sort of good to catch up with you, Luke, but I hope you understand when I say that I hope I never see you again,” he says. “I hope you and Joss work it out somehow.”

Luke nods, still mumbling apologies as the cab driver pulls away from the curb.

Win watches until the cab’s gone, bringing his hand up to his head and massaging his temples. He couldn’t tell how old Bright was earlier, but he knows that it can’t have been in the past because there’s no way Bright wouldn’t have mentioned that if he’d seen it.

“Win?” Bright’s walking out of their building, clad in the clothes Win had found in a pile earlier. “What are you doing out here? I just got back and the apartment was empty.”

Win takes a deep breath. “Bright,” he says. “We need to talk.”

* * *

Win tells him the whole story, not leaving out any of the gory details. He tells him about running into Luke at the bar, about having to bring him home so he wouldn’t end up a smear on the sidewalk, and about the kiss. 

He also tells him about the part where an older Bright walks in on them, probably two years older by the looks of it, hurriedly adding that he was about to shove Luke off even if he hadn’t come in.

Bright listens quietly to the whole story, brow furrowing more and more as Win gets through it.

“I’m really, really sorry,” Win finishes, reaching out to grasp Bright’s hand. “Please don’t hate me forever, I really didn’t mean to do anything.”

Bright doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but Win can see the muscles of his jaw working.

“If I hadn’t walked in,” Bright finally says, as if choosing his words very carefully. “Would you have told me what happened?”

Win’s a little taken aback by the question, eyes widening as he considers the possibility. “I…” he stutters, and his _pause_ speaks for him.

“Why?”

“Let me explain―”

“I can forgive the fact that you got drunk with some guy,” Bright says, his eyes impossibly sad. “I can even forgive that you brought him back to our apartment without telling me first considering my condition.”

Win opens his mouth to protest, but Bright raises a hand, cutting him off. “But what I can’t forgive is the thought that you wouldn’t have been honest with me if I hadn't caught you, when you haven’t done nothing wrong,” he says. “That’s… that’s what our entire relationship is about, Win. There’s no one I trust more than you.”

Win is screaming inside because Bright doesn't understand. 

_How can he not be worried after the older Bright awhile ago left him like that without giving him a chance to explain?_

Win tries to lighten up the mood. 

“Bright…” he smiles and grabs for his hand to explain why he hesitated, but Bright pulls away. 

“I think,” Bright says. “I think we should take some time off.”

He turns on his heel and walks off, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Win is stunned into silence, unable to do little more than stare at the door to their apartment, willing Bright to walk back through it.

But he never does.

* * *

Win has come to the conclusion that the fates hate him.

He tries valiantly to forget about Bright and work on his career, but day after day he sits at his tiny desk and draws prospective designs for someone else’s label, and he realizes that he’s forgotten what happiness feels like.

Bright hadn’t come back the night he’d broken up with him, and he hadn’t come back the day after. A full week had passed before Win had worked up the nerve to call Bright’s mother, and she’d replied that he was safe but staying with them at their home.

Bright had apparently turned in all of his final papers and then hopped on a plane back to his hometown, leaving Win to go out of his mind with worry. He’d called Bright and they’d had a stilted conversation where Bright said he didn’t want to see him anymore, and that their time off had morphed into a fairly definitive end.

“Is this what you really want?” Win had whispered, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry, Bright. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Win,” Bright had sighed. “I just… it’s too hard. I’ve been so dependent on you and your journals, and I need to, I don’t know. Learn how to live like this. Need to know the truth, or see it… without your help. I just… I need to be away from you right now.”

“So you just used me then?”

“Win, it’s not like that—”

“Shut up! Don’t ever show yourself to me again.”

And that had been that. 

Win couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his anger over the errant kiss, but Bright had refused to answer any more of his calls afterward.

So Win had graduated, moved apartments, picked up the pieces of his life, and tried to move forward.

Almost a year has passed and now he’s twenty-three. It’s a Tuesday when he makes himself soup for dinner, cutting a hunk of bread and spending a good thirty minutes staring at it. He hasn’t seen Bright in months.

There is a soft pop behind him when he realizes that he’s not alone, and he turns around and discovers that Bright is on the floor, shaking. 

He gasps, immediately grabbing a blanket and wrapping the man in it, helping him to sit up.

“Bright, are you hurt?” he asks urgently. “You have to tell me so I can help you.”

“Win,” Bright says inaudibly. There are bruises on his torso and back, purple and angry, looking far too dark to be anything but deliberate.

“What’s happened to you?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Bright and trying to lead him to the couch. “Where did those bruises come from?”

Bright shakes his head, breathing labored and leaning on Win heavily. “F-fell. I was at a f-forest clearing,” he explains. “Don’t know what year. I s-stole some clothes at a nearby p-place and ended up running away b-because the owners were there and their d-dog chased me. F-for a minute, I…” he swallows hard. “I d-didn’t know if I’d ever find m-my way back to you.”

Win’s eyes fill with tears. His heart clenches at the thought of Bright hurting, but he takes heart in the fact that this Bright looks older and he apparently still loves him.

“You’ll always find your way,” Win sobs, and Bright’s arms go around him, strong and comforting.

They remain that way until Bright disappears again, and Win is left holding nothing but an empty blanket.

* * *

Bright is following a trail of blood.

Bright half hopes that they belong to a wounded animal, but he sees very human footprints stamped on the muddy grass, keeping perfect time with the droplets. Each step he takes feels like a shard of ice going through the soles of his feet because of something in his guts, but he keeps going forward, dread building in his chest.

He knows he should find clothes and some sort of shelter, but there’s neither here, so he follows the blood.

The tracks end abruptly at the base of a tree, and he can make out a shoulder pressed against the far side of the tree. As Bright approaches, he realizes that the shoulder is covered in red, tiny rivulets sliding down the arm and mingling with the grass.

The man is whispering something over and over, and blood drains from Bright’s face as he realizes that it’s a name.

_Win._

He braces himself on the tree and turns to look, but he already knows that it’s his own face that will greet him. 

The only thing that he isn’t prepared for is how young he looks, and he realizes that he’s just seen himself on the brink of death.

He disappears before the other man notices his presence, and Bright tumbles back to his twenty-two year old Win, back to his apartment with Win where everything is safe and warm.

The image of himself, a handful of years older and dying in the middle of a forest, shakes him to the very core. He’s frightened, so frightened at the thought of death looming so closely, but more than that, he’s frightened for Win.

It would destroy him, he realizes. Not now, not so soon, not while they’re so very much in love.

He drops his head in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t do anything to stop them.

He knows what he has to do.

“Win?” he puts on a robe and looks for him. “Win, where are you?”

When he looked outside, he saw Win looking so lost while a familiar face sat inside the cab in front of their place.

_Luke._

* * *

Their next meeting is entirely by chance.

Win manages to get some time off and goes home for Christmas, eyeing his family’s house with a vague sort of nostalgia. Mick is there with his girlfriend, and he introduces her to Win brightly.

Win shakes her hand, wondering how long this one will last. His father has kept him updated on Mick’s amorous adventures, revealing that he has a new girl come by the shop practically every other month.

“I’m going to the coffee shop,” he tells his father. “Love is in town and wants to meet up.”

Love had landed a job teaching voice at a music school. She texts Win to meet her at the coffee shop near Bangkok Trinity and just the thought of stepping back into the place where he’s made so many memories with Bright makes his heart hurt.

But he’s twenty-four years old, it’s been two years since they broke it off. He’s an adult, and he doesn’t want to make Love drive all the way to the local mall, so he tells himself to stop being silly and texts back that he’ll see her soon.

He spends the drive listening to ‘Same Page’ by The Tilly Birds on repeat, and tells himself that this doesn’t make him a masochist.

Win’s enveloped in a bone-crushing hug the minute Love lays her eyes on him, and she shakes her head as she pulls away.

“Win,” she says. “It’s been way too long. What have you been up to?”

Win shrugs, smiling. “Nothing much,” he says. “Still with the old firm.”

“That’s still wonderful, Win,” she exclaims. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Don’t be,” Win says mirthlessly. “I feel so useless. They said that I should try to stay within their branding more.”

Love clucks in sympathy. “Well, they don’t know what they’re missing,” she says. “If I’m rich I will definitely let you design my dream home, hun.”

“Thanks, means a lot, Love,” Win smiles into the bottom of his coffee cup. “Can I get you a refill? I seem to be just guzzling this stuff today.”

Love shakes her head. “Uh, no,” she says, eyes widening slightly. “You go ahead.”

Win pays for his coffee, lost in thought as he walks over to the claim counter. Seeing Love again has made him realize how much he’d missed his hometown. Maybe he should seriously consider coming back home, maybe offer to help his dad and Mick with the shop.

“Medium drip,” the barista announces crisply, placing his cup on the counter.

Win reaches for it just as another hand closes on it, and he looks up to discover that he’s staring into unfathomable black eyes.

Black eyes that have gone wide with shock, and the blood drains from Win’s face as he finds himself face to face with one Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree.

“W-Win,” Bright stutters. “I… what are you doing here? I thought you were in central.”

Win shakes his head, licking his lips. “I came back for Christmas,” he says. “I got some time off of work… this can’t be a coincidence.”

He whips around, catching Love’s eye across the café but she shakes her head, mouthing “I didn’t do nothing!” at him.

“She didn’t tell me you were coming,” Bright confirms. “I just, I actually come here quite a bit. It reminds me of… happier times.”

The last part comes out in a bit of a whisper, and for a minute he looks so sad and lost that Win almost forgets that it’s Bright who dumped him.

But then Bright hands him the cup of coffee, and nods towards Love. “You go ahead,” he says. “I’ll take the next one.”

So Win grabs the cup and walks back to his friend, automatically dumping a cream and half a sugar in his drink. 

Love stares at him incredulously. “What the hell are you doing?” she asks. “Meeting him again? That’s fate, Win, and you don’t mess with fate.”

Win winces. “He fucking dumped me, remember?” he points out. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. And besides, he probably has a new boyfriend by now.”

Love stares at him wordlessly, shaking her head at how oblivious her friend can be. 

“Win, listen,” she begins. “I love you and all, but if you don’t get your butt in gear and go talk to that man, I’m going to seriously kick your ass. I’ve been keeping tabs over him because I’m worried and that boy has barely been out of his house,” she sighs. “You may think he’s over you, but him living like a hermit with his folks for the past seven months does not tell me that.”

W-what?

“Look, I don’t know what went down between you two in central,” she says. “But you can’t seriously be giving up that easily. Whatever happened to all your talk about courage and standing up for yourself?”

“That was Bright, actually,” Win says, but he’s already getting up. “I’ll call you later.”

“Mmhmm. And you better get a move on—Bright walked out of here five minutes ago.”

Win swears softly under his breath, knocking over his cup in his haste to get away. “Sorry!” he yells, already halfway out the door.

Love shakes her head, watching him go. “Go get him.”

* * *

It turns out that Win really didn’t have to rush so much because Bright’s left his overturned coffee cup and a pile of his clothes on the ground next to Win’s car.

He sighs, opening his car door and settling in to wait.

It isn’t long before he spots an all-too-familiar head of hair peering out from behind one of the cars across the lot, and Win grabs his jacket and heads over.

“Thanks,” Bright mutters, shrugging on the thick coat. “I don’t suppose you have my shoes, too?”

Win purses his lips. “If you want them,” he says. “You’re going to have to get into my car.”

No one is more surprised than him when Bright follows without complaint, getting into the back so he can put his clothes back on.

There’s dead silence in the car when he’s done, and their eyes meet in the rearview mirror.

“Bright…”

“Win, I…” Bright says, at exactly the same moment.

They laugh a little awkwardly, but it breaks the tension somehow.

Bright shrugs. “You go first.”

Win turns around, reaching over and taking Bright’s hand in his.

“It’s almost your birthday.”

Bright looks down. “I never celebrate it anymore, not after we bro―”

“I miss you,” he cuts him off, afraid he might break down without getting his pent up feelings outside. “I really, really miss you. I’m having trouble working because all I think about is you, and I still don’t understand why we’re not together,” he sighs deeply. “I-I mean, I know why we’re not together, but you have to have gone back to that time since you’re twenty-four now,” he sighs. “You know it’s not as bad as I inadvertently made it sound two years ago, right? Luke was still crazy about Joss and he was just really, really drunk and… Bright. It meant nothing, I swear.”

Win is well aware that he’s been babbling, and he makes himself stop, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. “Please reconsider,” he says. “I don’t really have anything more than that. I just… you’re the only thing that can make me happy. Even when you hate me, I’m still in love with you.”

Bright’s eyes are shiny with tears and he squeezes Win’s hand back. “Win, I…” he begins, lower lip trembling. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

_Wait, what?_

Bright looks down, afraid to look at Win’s face. “You’re right, I’ve been back. I saw the kiss and I know you didn’t mean it,” he says. “To be honest, it was never really about that. The Luke situation was just an excuse.”

“A-an excuse?”

“An excuse to break up with you, to make you hate me so that… so you wouldn’t feel so bad if I died.”

He says the last part so softly that Win has to strain to hear it, and when he does, he makes a strangled sound, reaching over to tip Bright’s chin up. 

“If you died?” he whispers fearfully. “What do you mean? Have you seen something?”

Bright nods dumbly. “That night, when you were with Luke, I travelled,” he says. “I don’t know where, and I don’t know when. But Win… I saw myself. I think I was dying, and I was young. Not as young as now, but maybe thirty, tops, if even that. I don’t… I don’t think I have a lot of time left, and it’s not fair that I've been putting you through all this.”

Win pulls away from him and opens the car door, running out and pulling open Bright’s door and tumbling in beside him. He pulls Bright into his arms, embracing him so tightly that Bright thinks he can feel his ribs creak.

“Is that why?” Win whispers angrily, even as he pulls Bright in for a searing kiss. “Is that why you broke up with me? Because you think it’d hurt me less if you died?”

Bright nods, returning Win’s embrace with equal fervor. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I thought you’d forget about me, move on. I guess I didn’t think—“

“No, you didn’t,” Win breaks in furiously. He pulls back a little, still clutching Bright’s arms in a deathgrip. “You weren’t thinking at all. Don’t you get it, Bright? You’re it for me. There’s no one else, there’s no one I’m ever going to love more than you. And you shouldn’t have run away, you shouldn’t have made that decision for us.”

They’re both crying now, holding each other as close as they possibly can in the cramped backseat. 

“I don’t care if you’re dying tomorrow,” Win says. “It just means that we’ve got to make every second count today.”

“Win―”

“Don’t even fucking think about trying to leave me again,” he continues. “I’ll always be there for you, Bright. I’ll always be waiting.”

Bright stifles his tears and nods, burying his face in Win’s neck, breathing in his lover’s scent.

_He knows he’s home._

* * *

Bright hurts his leg during one of his jumps. They’re coming much more frequently now, the most he’s ever experienced, and Bright is forced to leave his job at the coffee shop before they fire him for all his absences. 

It’s not like it was a big deal, anyway. It’s the only job he can hold down now at twenty-seven years old because of his condition, and it doesn’t even require his diploma.

His father calls and tells him not to worry about money—Win has told them that the disappearances are getting worse, and Bright has been trying to stop from disappearing but can’t. 

Bright’s father tells him to hold on, to concentrate, to keep himself grounded into this time. He can do it, if only he manages to stay strong.

Bright does his best, but he knows that it’s a lost cause. He thanks his father for the financial support, tells Win that he wants to move out of the city and into a house.

“I want to have a home,” he says, a faraway look in his eyes. “With a backyard or something, like your old house.”

Win studies him. “Maybe we can start looking in the summer,” he says. “I’m up for a promotion at work and I’m worried that moving into a suburb will mess up my commute time.”

Bright nods listlessly. “Sure,” he says. He fiddles with the hem of his cardigan. He doesn’t really care about moving, but it gives him something to think about.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” he asks Win after a while, and it’s so out of the blue that Win looks up from the season brief that he’s reading.

“Uh, I’m not sure how to answer that,” says Win, raising a brow. “We’re twenty-seven years old, Bright, still young. I’ve never really thought about it.”

Bright shrugs. “Just thinking,” he says. “It’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?”

“Okay, stop,” Win puts down his folder. “I know things have been hard on you lately, but please don’t think about things like that. If we do have a child, then it’s something we’ll do because we genuinely want one, not because…” Win’s voice wavers a little, but he clears his throat and presses onward. “Not because you’re scared I’ll be alone when you… when you’re gone.” 

Bright looks down, clearly lost in his thoughts again.

Win reaches out, taking Bright’s hand in his. “Babe, we don’t know what the future holds yet, so let’s try to stay positive, okay?”

Bright nods, smiling. “Got it,” he says. He hopes against hope that everything will work out somehow, because the more time slips away from him, the more of it he wishes he had.

He’s changing. He can feel it in his gut. Something’s burning inside of him—speeding up or slowing down and Bright can’t put his finger on it but he knows it’s going to be bad.

He’s scared.

* * *

Bright tries to tell Win, but he doesn’t know how. Instead he changes tactics and asks him to plan a party for them, wanting to see some of their old friends again. It isn’t hard because Love and Gigie are just an hour away, and they’ve kept in touch with some of their friends from college and Mick’s been talking about visiting them for a while.

Bright doesn’t add that he thinks it’s going to be his last chance to say goodbye to them.

“Sure, babe,” Win says, a little surprised but not displeased. “You don’t want to wait until your twenty-eight birthday? It’s just a few months away.”

Bright shakes his head, afraid to tell Win that he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to keep himself together until then. “Mick’s been wanting to visit for a while,” he says. “Tell him he can crash here and we can throw him a welcome party.”

So Win makes the arrangements and Bright has coffee with Gigie. She’s talking animatedly about a new musical she’s been signed on to.

“I hope you come see me again,” she gushes. “It’s such a wonderful part. Not the lead this time, but it’s such a meaty role. I wouldn’t be surprised if I get a nomination for this one.”

Bright smiles and nods, letting her words wash over him like a balm. He loses himself in the afternoon, watching the sun-dappled trees cast beautiful patterns on the sidewalk.

Gigie kisses him goodbye and promises to be at the party. “I suppose it won’t be so awkward to see everyone again,” she says. “And Win’s an excellent party planner.”

* * *

Bright’s leg finally heals completely and the night of the party is filled with laughter and cheer. Win embraces him towards the end of it, nuzzling his cheek.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” he says. “Everyone seems to be reconnecting rather well.”

Bright nods absently. “I did,” he replies. He brushes some hair out of his lover’s eyes. “Thank you, Win. I know I don’t say it enough, but… thank you. For everything,” his voice catches a bit, and Win pulls back a bit to stare into his eyes. 

“Bright?” he asks. “Is everything okay?”

Bright shrugs. “I think so,” he lies. “Just… just not feeling so good. Maybe I had a little too much wine.”

Win lets it pass, giving him another quick peck before going off to help Mick settle down in their spare room. It’s actually their study/music room, but Win’s laid down a mattress and told Mick that he can stay for as long as he wants.

Bright knows that the next few weeks will be tough on Win, and he doesn’t want him to be alone. The feeling in his gut gets stronger with each passing day, and he knows that he doesn’t have much time left.

It’s a Sunday when he finally blinks out of time, and Win gathers up his clothing and puts it away.

He doesn’t know that the end has begun.

* * *

Win feels like his heart is breaking. It’s been seventy-three days since he’s seen Bright, the longest he’s ever been out of his own time.

He’s frightened for him, the worry growing in his chest like a living thing. He remembers that horrible night four years ago, seeing Bright covered in bruises.

“He was twenty-eight,” he mumbles. “Oh my god, he was twenty-eight.”

Win’s heart freezes in his chest as he realizes that he’s never seen Bright older than this. He was twenty-eight when Win’s mom died, and he was twenty-eight when he took him to senior prom.

These instances could all explain Bright’s extended absence, but he hadn’t seemed hurt when Win had met him the other times. It was the last time he’d seen him at around that age that worried Win, back when he was twenty-three, when Bright was covered in bruises and shaking on his living room floor.

“Please, please be all right,” he covers his face with his hands, fresh tears beginning to fall. “I don’t know what to do…”

He starts when he feels a soft hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Bright—young and beautiful―standing uncertainly behind him.

“Are you okay?” Bright asks, and he finds himself abruptly pulled into a tight embrace.

His face is wrong, it’s far too young to be his Bright, but right now Win doesn’t care. 

He buries his face in Bright’s hair and breathes in the scent of him, his heart constricting in his chest.

“How old?” he whispers. He pulls back long enough to untie his robe and wrap it around Bright’s shoulders, rubbing his arms to keep him warm.

Bright grins. “Sixteen,” he says. “You look good.”

Win at twenty-eight doesn’t look that much different from what Bright knows, though his features have lost the softness of youth and his chest is broader, more muscular now. His undershirt is tight on his torso and his hair is different, too; and Bright thinks it’s a good look on him. 

The current reminds him of the Calvin Klein models that he and Win gush over in private, all hard planes and intense eyes.

Win gives him a watery chuckle. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Bright grins, blushing. “Yeah?” he says shyly. “I’m really glad to see you, too.”

Win musters a smile, wiping his eyes. He has to remind himself that this Bright has just embarked upon their relationship, and he shouldn’t worry him with thoughts of the future. Sixteen-year-old Bright’s so full of life that it makes Win’s heart clench in his chest.

He calls work and tells them that he isn’t coming in tomorrow, not wanting to risk Bright disappearing when he’s not there. He’s supposed to be working on the next project anyway, and his creative process has been somewhat stunted.

Bright pokes around their apartment, casually inspecting the furniture. Win directs him to the closet and within minutes, he’s rooting through his future wardrobe, occasionally whistling appreciatively as he unearths a few of his older self’s more interesting pieces. They’re gifts from Win mostly, as working as an architect has some perks.

Win closes his eyes and tries not to think about where his Bright is right now, but it’s impossible.

He hopes against hope that he’s all right.

* * *

Bright stays longer than Win expects, and his unexpected presence eases Win’s heart somewhat. He’s filled with guilt because he knows that his Bright is still out there, lost and frightened, but Win is desperate for something to ease the pain inside him.

Bright himself isn’t exactly making it easy—he treats Win like he did when he was sixteen, staring at him unabashedly and cuddling up to him on the couch.y 

They’re in the middle of watching a DVD of the latest Leonardo di Caprio movie, Bright chuckling excitedly over the fact that he gets to see a movie that hasn’t even been made yet.

His arm is draped around Win’s waist, Win’s chin resting lightly on his head. Bright squirms a bit, reaching up to kiss Win on the cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

Win doesn’t want him to worry, so he lies. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Just lack of sleep, that’s all.”

“Then go to sleep.”

Bright’s arms tighten around him, and he falls into a peaceful sleep for the first time in weeks.

When he wakes up, Bright’s gone, but his scent lingers on the couch.

Win tries very hard not to cry.

He fails.

* * *

Another month passes without a single appearance from Bright, and Win thinks he’s starting to go mad with worry.

His birthday is in two weeks, and Win has spent more days without him than with him this year.

 _‘How did it get so bad?’_ Win wonders, rubbing at his eyes. Fatigue permeates every corner of his soul.

His workplace has stopped calling and Win wonders dimly if he’s been fired. He can’t bring himself to care, the career he’d worked so hard to foster suddenly seeming so inconsequential in light of Bright’s disappearance.

He goes through motions of life—cooking food, eating it, wiping things down when the dust gets thick enough to smear his fingers. Mostly he reads his journal, poring over the pages over and over, trying to find some hidden clue that’s going to save Bright.

But there’s nothing there, nothing new, and his childish script at thirteen gushes the same embarrassing prose about meeting the handsome man in his closet every time he reads it.

Each day blends into the next, and he dimly recalls speaking to his father on the phone. He’s saying something about snapping out of his funk and trying to move forward, but Win can’t hear him through the deafening beating of his own heart.

Mick tries next, asking Win if he wants to come home and help at the shop for a bit. He says that his girlfriend was thinking about coming home to see him for a bit. They’d both love it if Win would join her.

But Win politely tells him that no, he can’t, because he’s waiting for Bright to come home. He doesn’t know what his family must think has happened, and to be honest, he doesn’t care. All that matters is that he’s waiting for Bright.

He hears a sound coming from the bedroom and he’s up like a shot, running towards it and throwing the door open.

Win catches a flicker of something from the corner of his eye, but when he whirls around, it’s gone.

“Bright?” he whispers. He steels himself, then repeats the name. Louder. “Bright?”

There’s a crash from the living room and Win grabs a blanket from his bed, running outside again.

Bright is there, staggering towards him with his hand outstretched. There’s bruising on his back, purple and angry.

“Win,” he whispers. “Win.”

“Stay with me,” Win pleads. He races to Bright’s side but he’s gone before he can touch him. He whirls around, looking frantically around the room. There’s nothing, not a thing, but Win knows that it can’t be it, not now, not yet.

“Fight it,” he shouts, praying that Bright can hear him. “Fight it! Stay with me!”

He kicks the side table open and grabs the first aid kit, standing tensely in the center of the room. He remembers, remembers the times he saw Bright before, trying to catalog his wounds.

He was bleeding, he remembers, but why?

What comes next happens very quickly, and Bright appears and reappears in quick succession at various places around their apartment.

One moment he’s on the couch, holding his knees to his chest and shivering violently. At another he’s in mid-leap, his terrified gaze meeting Win’s before he’s gone. The next time he appears, he’s already bleeding, blood dripping from a fresh gash in his arm that he’s clutched to himself.

He’s blinking out of one room and into the next, his body flickering like a light bulb about to go out. Win is running from one end of their home to the other, dragging his first aid kit and a thick blanket with him.

“Bright,” he cries out. “Please, stay with me.”

Bright appears on their couch, back arched in a parody of pleasure, his teeth clenched as he shudders violently.

“Stay with me,” Win sobs, even as he wraps Bright in the blanket once more, trying desperately to get him warm. He tries to put pressure on the deep gash on Bright’s arm but his hands are shaking so much that he can’t hold it down for more than a few seconds.

“Shh, shhhh,” he begs as Bright whimpers at the sting of it. “I’m here, baby, I’m here. Please, just stay here so I can...”

Win trails off as Bright begins to flicker again, tears spilling down his cheeks. He drops the bandage and reaches instead for Bright’s fingers, squeezing them as tightly as he can. “Love, please, I know it’s hard, but you have to try,” he says. “You have to try and stay here, teerak. Stay with me!”

Panicked black eyes alight on his, and even as Bright struggles to comply he’s already half gone. “I love you,” he whispers, and then Win’s left with a blood-spattered blanket and numb hands.

Win waits for him to reappear somewhere else, but when it becomes clear that he isn’t going to, he falls apart at the seams.

He staggers a few steps backwards before collapsing on the floor. His hands shake as he wraps them around himself, chest heaving with sobs.

“Bright,” he whispers, feeling his heart—his soul—fly apart.

* * *

Win barely manages to call Love, who drops everything for the first time in her entire career. She’s with him in under an hour, eyes widening at the sight of blood stains on the couch and trying to make sense of his words.

“Bright’s… gone?” she asks, wrapping her arms around him. “How do you… what happened…?”

But Win is crying too hard to speak, and in the end she puts him to bed, giving him enough sleeping pills to calm him down. She phones Mick to tell him what’s happened, and as she leaves, she tells Win that she’ll be back to check on him in the morning.

“I’m so sorry, Win,” she whispers. “I don’t know what’s happened, but… I’m so, so sorry.”

Win drifts off in a drugged, fitful sleep, dreaming of Bright.

He dreams about the first time Bright kissed him, remembering how beautiful the world had seemed afterwards, how colors had seemed so much brighter.

“There you are,” Dream Bright whispers. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Win tries to hold onto his hand as they traverse down the U Chiang Mai hallways, but Bright moves so quickly while Win struggles to catch up.

“Don’t let go,” Win gasps. “Bright!”

But Bright’s fingers are slipping from his and suddenly Win’s left behind. The hall shrinks down to the common room and Bright’s nowhere to be seen.

Win realizes that he’s there alone, his journal is lying on the table.

“You promised you’d always be there for me,” he whispers, finding the passage in the book, caressing his own words.

“And I will be.” The voice is whispered back from somewhere behind him, but he’s pulled into consciousness before he can turn.

The world slowly comes into focus as Win wakes up, sunlight streaming through the open curtains. The light is soft and hazy as it throws misshapen patterns onto the floor.

Win begins to cry softly, jamming his palms into his lids in an effort to staunch the tears.

“Don’t cry,” a gentle voice whispers behind him. “I’m here.”

He opens his eyes and meets Bright’s gaze, touching his smooth, soft cheek. “How old?” he asks.

“Seventeen.” Bright smiles impishly. “But my birthday’s in a couple of weeks…”

Win’s eyes shut in unexpected pain when he hears that.

* * *

Bright makes a small noise of distress when Win starts crying again, hands fluttering as he grabs for a box of tissues by the bed. 

“Win?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

Win takes some, swiping at his eyes. “You know I can’t tell you,” he says brokenly. “I’m just… feeling really lost right now.”

He looks so impossibly sad that Bright reaches over and embraces him, enveloping him in warmth.

He’s wearing the robe Win had left lying at the foot of the bed, and he doesn’t notice the dark red stains on its sleeves and hem. Win rubs his cheek against the material, resting lightly against Bright’s chest.

They stay that way for a long moment, Bright rubbing slow, comforting circles on Win’s back. “Why don’t I make you some breakfast?” he asks. “You always feel better after toast.”

“…okay,” Win’s voice is small as Bright disentangles himself and pads to the kitchen. Win gets up, walks to their bathroom and looks in the mirror.

His eyes are bloodshot and swollen from crying, and Win splashes water on his pale face. 

_‘Hold it together,’_ he tells himself. He sheds his clothing and steps into the shower, turning the water so hot that it scalds his flesh. It feels good somehow, but the numb feeling in his chest won’t go away.

Win steps out, toweling off and slipping into jeans and a shirt. He’s barefoot when he walks into the kitchen, giving Bright a small smile.

“Hey.”

Bright has made eggs to go with their toast, and after having a few bites, Win feels almost human again. He doesn’t think he can eat anymore without throwing up though, so he tips the rest into Bright’s plate and watches him eat.

“Is there anything I can do?” Bright asks. He pointedly eats the rest of Win’s toast.

Win shakes his head. “Just… just let me look at you, for a bit,” he says. “I… I haven’t seen you in a while, and I miss you.”

Bright shrugs and finishes his breakfast, putting the dishes in the washer afterwards. He’s never been able to control his disappearances, but the longest he’s ever been gone is a couple of days. 

He hopes that the Bright in this time hasn’t been leaving this Win alone for too long.

“You want to take a walk?” he asks. “I’m not sure if I’ll be leaving soon, but maybe getting some fresh air will make you feel better.”

Win can’t think of any reason to say no, so he texts Love not to come over, shrugs on his coat, bundles Bright up warmly, and leads him outside.

* * *

The nearest park is a ten-minute walk away, and the children are having a fun day. They sit down on a bench, Bright resting his head on Win’s shoulder.

A woman with a red coat walks past them, tugging a small girl with pigtails behind her.

A dog barks in the distance.

Bright’s brow furrows as if in memory, and he tugs urgently at Win’s hand. “I think,” he says. “I think I remember this.”

“What do you mean?” Win asks, standing. “Is everything okay?”

Bright shakes his head. “No, but I think I’ve been here before,” he says. “I can’t really remember so I must have been really young, but… the woman who passed by. I think I recognized her.”

He grabs Win’s hand and pulls him along, following the woman in red. The park is large, branching out into several stone paths that lead into pine trees.

They pass by a bench defaced with carvings, and Bright stops, staring.

“This is it,” he says. “I remember this.”

Ahead of them, they hear the woman and her son exclaim in surprise as a young, naked boy barrels past them. He’s the youngest Win has ever seen him, and Bright crouches down and opens his arms.

“Daddy!” The boy doesn’t realize who Bright really is, only grasps the resemblance and leaps instinctively into safety and warmth. Bright sheds his outer coat and wraps the boy up securely, seating him on the bench.

“Shh,” he says, snippets of memory coming back to him. “It’s okay, don’t be scared.”

Win watches Bright talking to himself, reassuring the little boy that everything is alright and that he mustn't be frightened.

He’s struck once again about how brave Bright is, how strong he must have been to weather all the twists life has chosen to set before him.

The woman in the red coat has walked away, leaving the path deserted. Win takes a few steps away, wanting to give Bright a bit of privacy when he sees movement from the corner of his eye.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he tells Bright, who nods and holds his younger self’s hand.

Win steps off the stone path and into the muddy forest. His eyes widen as he sees something ahead, breath catching as he sees a solitary figure leaning heavily against a tree.

As he watches, the figure staggers, falls. He doesn’t get up.

Win sprints towards him, hand flying to his mouth as he realizes who it is. He throws his coat off and wraps the other man in it, falling to his knees in the forest.

This is his Bright. This is _his_ Bright.

“Bright,” he whispers urgently, trying to will the other man’s eyes to open. Please, please. “Bright…”

The dark lashes flutter. “Th-there you are,” Bright whispers weakly. He looks worse than Win’s ever seen him, his lips so pale they’re practically blue. “You’re so beautiful…”

“I love you,” Win whispers, pressing a kiss to his cold lips. “Please don’t leave me… please don’t leave me, Bright.”

“Never,” Bright whispers. “I’ve been looking for you… my entire life…”

His eyes flutter shut, his breath rattles softly in his chest, and Win holds him close until he’s gone.

Bright doesn’t flicker this time, doesn’t blink out of existence. Instead he fades, so slowly at first that Win doesn’t realize what’s happening, and it isn’t until the weight of his body starts to get lighter in his arms that Win understands.

“Bright…” he whispers. “You rest now, love…”

He holds him until there’s nothing left to hold.

In the distance, he hears Bright call his name.

* * *

“I wish you’d tell me what was wrong,” Bright whispers, pressing a kiss on top of Win’s head.

They’re back at the apartment, and Win hasn’t said a word since Bright had found him hunched over. He hadn’t seemed hurt, so Bright had led him back to the apartment after seeing his younger self safely disappear.

He helps Win out of his gear and pulls him to their bedroom, sitting him down. Win’s eyes have turned cloudy.

“Win, I don’t know what to do,” Bright whispers. “I want to help you. Please tell me how to help you.”

“Be here,” Win says, cupping Bright’s cheek with his hand. “Just stay with me.”

“I will,” Bright replies earnestly. “I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

When Win awakens to the pre-dawn light the following morning, Bright is still there. He remembers that Bright had said he’d been gone a week that summer, and Win realizes that he’s got time.

Not a lot, not nearly enough, but it’s something.

And it’s time enough to say goodbye.

* * *

They spend the rest of the week in each other’s arms.

They take walks in the park, holding hands and sitting in cafes and listening to music. Bright finds his old guitar in the closet and plays aimless tunes and Win sings along.

Bright, in his own way, saves him.

On the seventh day, Win watches Bright shave in the mirror. He smiles as he watches Bright fumble a bit, missing a small spot by his chin.

“Let me,” Win says, stepping up behind him. Expertly, he relathers the area, arms coming up around Bright as he shaves it off. When he’s done, he puts the razor down on the sink and puts his arms around Bright, breathing in his scent.

Bright kisses his knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, meeting Win’s eyes in the mirror. “I had a wonderful week.”

Win smiles. “Me, too,” he says, eyes welling up. “You’re… you’re all set to go back now… for your present Win.”

Bright turns around in his arms, chuckling. “If only I could tell him how handsome he looks in the future, he’s probably gonna have a crush on you too… well, his future self,” he says, chuckling. “Do me a favor, okay?”

Win nods, stepping back a bit so Bright can grab the towel on the rack. “When I’m gone, try not to be so sad.”

“I’ll… I’ll try,” Win replies, heart constricting. Bright can’t know what he’s just said, and Win struggles not to break down. “I love you, Bright.”

“I love you, too,” Bright says gently. “Always.”

Bright hands Win the towel and he turns to hang it up, smoothing down the soft cloth on the rack. It has Bright’s initials on it, and he runs the tips of his fingers against the gold letters.

When he turns around, Bright is gone.

Win feels his tears fall freely now, but he lets them go. 

At least in the past, he knows that he and Bright are loving a lifetime’s worth.

* * *

It became a pattern for a few months. 

Win drifts off in a drugged, fitful sleep, dreaming of Bright. His dreams are repetitive―about the first time Bright kissed him, remembering how beautiful the world had seemed afterwards, how colors had seemed so much brighter.

He listens to their favorite songs when he’s awake. He barely eats or leaves his room.

He rather sees Bright in his dreams, since no physical version of Bright paid him a visit ever since the last time.

“There you are,” Dream Bright whispers again. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Win once again tries to hold onto his hand as they traverse down the U Chiang Mai hallways, but Bright moves so quickly every time that Win struggles to catch up.

“I said don’t let go, this has been the what, twentieth time and you’re still not listening,” Win cries. “Bright!”

But Bright’s fingers are slipping from his and suddenly Win’s left behind again. The hall shrinks down to the common room and Bright’s nowhere to be seen again.

Like he said, his dreams are repetitive―Win realizes that he’s there alone again, his journal lying on the table.

“You promised you’d always be there for me,” he whispers, finding the passage in the book, caressing his own words for the nth time.

“And I will be.” The voice is whispered back from somewhere behind him, but consciousness pulls him into waking before he can turn.

The world slowly comes into focus as Win wakes up, dried tears streaking his cheeks. Sunlight is streaming through the open curtains, soft and hazy as they throw misshapen patterns onto the floor.

Win begins to cry softly, jamming his palms into his lids in an effort to staunch the tears.

“Don’t cry,” a gentle voice whispers behind him. “I’m here.”

And Win doesn’t want to turn around, doesn’t want to see another version of Bright that is younger right now, doesn’t want to be reminded of the man he’s just lost.

But Bright’s hands are insistent, and he feels strong, infinitely gentle hands closing around his waist and rolling him over.

_W-wait, strong?_

He opens his eyes and meets Bright’s gaze, eyes widening as he takes in the stubble, the haircut, the livid scar on his arm where a gaping wound was situated the last time he saw him.

“B-Bright?” Win whispers, fearfully. “Are you…?”

“It’s me,” Bright whispers, kissing him gently. “It’s okay, Win. I’m back. I’m home.”

And Win is throwing himself in Bright’s arms, sobbing openly now, his arms wrapped in a death grip around his lover’s neck.

“H-how?” He stammers, but when Bright tries to respond, he just tightens his grip and kisses him again and again and again. “Tell me later,” he says. “It doesn’t matter.”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “All that matters is that you’re here.”

* * *

Bright’s lying in the middle of the forest, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest. The gash is deep and wide, and he’s weak from the continuous jumps and the loss of blood. 

He’s been spending less and less time in each place, starting with meeting Win at seven before leapfrogging back and forth in his timeline. One moment he’s meeting Win’s teddy bear, the next he sees his parents kiss for the first time at the park.

For days he’s shunted around, not minding so much as the hours he spends are not entirely unpleasant. He takes Win to prom and it’s exactly how Win recounted it in his journal; he disappears right before the end.

But then things take a turn for the worse, and he’s jumping through time so quickly that he’s lost track of how long he’s been gone in his own time. He’s whisked away from one locale to the other, moments blurring together like sand falling through an hourglass.

He lands here, in a mountainous forest in the middle of nowhere—a place that he remembers from an adolescent camping trip with his father—except it’s the wrong time because it’s almost abandoned.

There’s nothing for miles around and Bright knows this, and he wraps his arms around himself as he lays down, trying to shield himself from the cold. He knows his arm hasn’t stopped bleeding. He’s been holding it for hours, trying to put pressure on it but it seems a hopeless task. 

‘Not like this,’ he thinks desperately. ‘I want to see Win one last time.’

Night has begun to fall and Bright knows that he’s not going to be able to survive a night out here, and he wonders if this is how it’s to end for him. 

_“I love you,” Win whispers, pressing a kiss to his cold lips. “Please don’t leave me… please don’t leave me, Bright.”_

_“Never,” Bright whispers. “I’ve been looking for you… my entire life…”_

He wonders if his final moment with Win was him disappearing or better yet… fading.

Bright watches his breath spiral out of his mouth and dissipate into the air. He lets his shoulder fall to his side, closing his eyes and repeating Win’s name over and over like a mantra.

 _‘Please,’_ he thinks, begging every deity he can think of as well as fate in general. _‘Take me to Win.’_

And just like that, he’s gone.

* * *

Win pushes his sunglasses up on his nose, trying to shield his face from the glare of the hot sun. He knew that he should never have agreed to this camping trip. Going rustic has never been his strong suit, and he hates the way his new walking shorts make his legs look. 

Bright, on the other hand, has been acting insufferably at ease all day, and their son hasn’t been much better.

“Dome,” Win calls, pursing his lips. “Get down from that tree this instant.”

“Nooooo,” Dome sighs, hand freezing in mid-air as he grabs for a higher branch to climb.

Win knows that he fancies himself quite the outdoorsman, and like his other father, has the courage of a, particularly ferocious wolf. 

“No buts, luuk,” he says. “That tree is way too big for you to climb. Why don’t you try the one papa’s in?”

“But I’m seven years old!” Dome whines but obeys, clambering down. He eyes the tree that Bright is seated against, casually reading a book. “And that tree’s for babies.”

Bright raises a brow. “Are you calling me a baby?” he asks. He’s perched on the lowest branch, legs casually stretched out before him.

“Yeah,” Dome laughs, running over and clambering onto his lap. Bright lets him sit, resting his chin on top of his black hair.

Win gets an unexpected lump in his throat as he watches his perfect family before him. He’s so glad they decided to adopt and start a family. There were moments in their past when he wasn’t sure they would make it, that’s he considers every day they have together as a gift.

“Shouldn’t we put the tent up?” he asks Bright. “It looks like it’s going to be dark soon.”

Bright looks up, shielding his eyes against the sun. “I think we still have a little time,” he says. “Give it a few more minutes. Besides, it’s a beautiful day… maybe you should take a walk?”

Win sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But if I get lost, you better come when I scream for help even though I can manage myself.”

“I know you just want to annoy me again, but deal,” Bright laughs, returning to his book.

Win’s walks out of the clearing, kicking at some twigs and rocks. It really is a beautiful place. Not exactly how he’d want to spend his summer, but it had been a majority vote and he’d ended up overruled.

He comes by a stream, and he sits down beside it gingerly, lowering himself to the ground. There are worse things, he thinks, than being in a beautiful place with the two people you love most.

The past few years with Bright had been somewhat easier on them both. The fits had seemed to normalize again, occurring with the same frequency as they had before Bright’s twenty-eight year. Bright had also been traveling forwards more often, and to somewhat easier situations.

Bright won’t really elaborate, but one day he comes home with a wide smile. When Win asks him what’s up, he simply shrugs and says what a beautiful name ‘Dome’ is.

Win hears a soft splash of water some distance away, and he straightens, wondering if he should investigate the sound.

“…Win…” The voice is weak, but it carries. 

_Oh god._

His breath catching in his throat, Win runs down the bank and leaps into the stream, grabbing at the deathly hand that’s barely hanging onto the shore.

“Bright,” Win gasps, and suddenly he realizes exactly why Bright had pushed so hard for this trip to happen. 

He’d known. He’d known that this was where he would end up after his series of incidents years ago.

“Win,” Bright whispers. “Always knew… you’d find me.”

And he passes out in Win’s arms, the other man grunting slightly under his weight.

“Bright!” Win yells, struggling not to fall over with the deadweight in his arms. “Bright! Help me!”

In the end, Win is glad that Bright had persuaded him not to pitch the thousand baht tent after all. In their haste to get the younger man to the hospital, they’d probably have left it behind if it had been up.

Win rides in the back, holding Bright close to his chest as his Bright drives, Dome riding shotgun. 

“Papa is that—“ he begins, but Win shushes him.

“I’ll explain later, luuk,” he says, wrapping his coat around Bright tighter and trying to get some warmth into his body. “Right now, papa has to concentrate, okay?”

Dome nods, eyes wide. They reach the hospital and Win rushes with Bright inside, her daddy hanging back with her in the car. “It’s all right, Dome,” he says. “It’s best if we leave papa alone with him for a bit. And hospitals aren’t for little boys.”

“Papa, is that… you?” Dome asks hesitantly, reaching out to grab his dad’s hand.

Bright looks at his son for a moment, then nods slowly. “Luuk, there’s something you need to know about me…”

* * *

It isn’t long before Bright’s arm is stitched up and he’s on the mend. He has to stay at the hospital for a few days, and Win never leaves his side.

Bright stays with their son, remembering how things occur and doing his best not to get in the way. He checks in on Win every day, bringing him changes of clothing and some food.

On the twelfth day, the hospital discharges Bright and Win brings him to their home. It’s a beautiful little house, with white picket fences and a backyard. The younger man is entranced.

Bright helps him to their guestroom, and Win goes to Dome and tells him that he can meet his younger dad if he promises to behave.

Dome, having been briefed on how you can sometimes run into yourself when you time travel, nods. Win marvels at how easily young minds can grasp such complicated concepts, but he supposes that it boils down to trusting the Unknown.

Dome solemnly shakes Bright’s hand, clambering up the bed to give him a peck on the cheek. Bright looks so overwhelmed that Win takes pity on him and reaches out to squeeze his hand. 

The older Bright watches this from the door, emotions rolling in his chest.

He knows exactly how the younger man is feeling, hadn’t he been him just a handful of years ago?)

It’s hope, plain and simple, and it’s a light at the end of a tunnel that he hadn’t known he’d ever get out of.

Bright meets his younger self’s eyes.

 _“Thank you,”_ they both mouth. And they smile.

* * *

“He’ll be gone tomorrow.” Bright says out of the blue, putting the last of their dinner dishes into the washer.

“How do you know?” Win asks, then laughs. “Stupid question.”

Bright smiles. “It’s been a hell of a few months,” he says. “Dome took it a lot better than I thought he would.”

“He’s a smart boy,” Win says fondly. “Comes from having such a smart dad.”

“Thanks.” Bright grins, but Win sticks his tongue out at him.

“I meant me!” He chuckles as Bright leans over to tickle him, fingers dancing over his partner’s still slim hips.

Win kisses the tip of Bright’s nose, casually winding his arms around his waist. “I love you,” he says. “I honestly don’t know how I would’ve survived if you hadn’t…” he lets out a shaky breath, leaning his head against Bright as they embrace. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“It’s all right,” Bright says. “I’m all right, thanks to you. I never had a chance to thank you until now, but… you saved my life,” he kisses the man before him, brushing his lips against his neck. “You are everything to me, Win,” he says. “I always thought I’d be there for you, but it turns out that it was you who saved me.”

Win shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, stealing a soft kiss. His eyes turn to the young man sleeping soundly on the couch, Dome curled up at his side. His eyes twinkle. “We saved each other.”

Dome stirs in his sleep, calling for him to carry him to bed, and Win laughs, pressing another kiss to Bright’s lips before stepping away.

Bright smiles. Their life isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, and though his disappearances have become fewer and farther between, there are still some nights when Win stays up late, fretting and wondering when Bright will return.

Bright always tells him not to worry.

Win is home to him, and he’ll always find his way back.

_**End** _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Say hi on twitter: @brightwineunoia


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